Names
by Missie DuCaine
Summary: Warren/Will. "I like the feel of your name on my lips..."


**Names**

_Sky High belongs to Disney, not me. But this future version of them __**is**__ mine_.

"Will," I whisper into the silence, smiling a little, arms wrapped around my knees as I sit on our bed. You shift a little in your sleep, but you don't wake.

Every night it's like this, I lay there after we go to bed, sometimes after sex, sometimes not, keeping my breathing slow and even while you snuggle up to my side, arms tossed over me. I wait until you're well and truly asleep, then I sit up in the darkness of our bedroom, watching you sleep.

You're beautiful when you sleep, but I don't expect that you'd know this. You can't exactly see yourself. But as you've gotten older, your brows furrow more often, and I love that in the middle of the night, those brows smooth and even out, and I can stroke my fingertips across them, and all you do is murmur in your sleep, shifting a little. Your soft chocolate hair fans out on the pillow like a dark halo, and I love to play with the curls, running them through my fingers like heavy water. But best of all is whispering your name into the darkness, and knowing that you don't hear me. It's a bit strange, I admit it, but I don't use your name when you're awake, but I love the sound of it. It's a strong name, a sweet name, and I love to whisper it, to feel it roll about in my mouth like a fine wine.

I love when you wake up in the morning, and the first thing you do when you roll over from wherever it is you've shifted during the night is kiss me. You are unique in all the world with that, Will, it's sweet and gentle, and true. Sometimes our kisses are hurried, or distracted. Not these ones. We both have morning breath, and neither of us has showered, but I love those kisses best.

You always tell me that maybe I should do something about my overly long hair, but whenever we lay on the couch just watching TV, your fingers always idly run through it. I don't think you realize what you're doing, half the time, but it feels so wonderful, when you stroke my scalp, and you just card your fingers through hair that I know, I know, is long. But I love it long, because you always run your fingers through it.

You asked me once, if I missed you when you were gone at work all day. I tried to laugh and brush it off, pointing out that I was doing work all day anyway. Novels don't write themselves, you know. But you just shook your head, and said that wasn't the point, what you meant was whether or not the house ever felt empty. How could I tell you that the house never felt empty when you were gone because I could still smell you everywhere I went. I even sit with your sweaters on all day, just because it feels like I've got you there with me. You smell like cloves, you know. Cloves, and a bit of cinnamon. It's spicy and strong, and I love it. So I never feel lonely in the house all day, I can't. And you wonder why I write so many romances where the man, or at least one of the men, is strong and dark haired and smells spicy.

You have beautiful eyes, are you aware of that? Dark eyes that dance and sparkle when you laugh. You just throw back your head, perfect white teeth flashing as you laugh, rich and deep, eyes lit up like starry skies.

It makes me laugh when you come home from your long days at work, you're sore and tired, or maybe you've been on a dangerous mission and something horrible has happened, and your miserable. You just come in, give me one short kiss, then march upstairs immediately, go straight into the bathroom, and draw a bath. You pour in about half a box of bath salts and a couple capfuls of bubble bath, then sink in up to your ears, and just soak. I always come in after about half an hour, and heat the water back up for you, before curling up on the rug beside the tub, reading. After about another hour, I warm up the water again, and you reach your arm over the edge of the tub, playing with my hair and getting it totally wet, but I don't mind because when you finally get out of the tub two hours after climbing in, you're all pruney and wrinkled, but you're in an infinitely better mood, and you always seem to want to cuddle. Which of course, always leads to afternoon romps in bed, which of course, I have never been one to argue against.

I think it was three years after we'd moved in together that the one defining moment in our relationship happened, though.

It was raining.

It was pouring, actually. Pouring in the middle of a Friday afternoon, an afternoon that you had actually managed to get off, and I'd decided to take a break from my writing to lounge around on the couch with you. We'd made plans to go out and do something, but all that rain was kind of putting a damper on those plans, until, with a eagerness that surprises me to this day, you bolted up and started dragging me out the door.

You insisted that I had to come outside, and come out into the rain with me. I refused at first, but you're hard to resist, some days, all days. Soon, in our bare feet and jeans only, we were soon running around in the lawn and on our sidewalk, splashing in puddles, laughing. You grabbed my hands and spun me in crazy circles, making all the random strangers and neighbors who passed by looking at us like we were insane. I know we must have looked like idiots, but we were having fun, and when we wrestled on the lawn and got all muddy, we just climbed in the bath together.

And when you got so sick the next day that you were stuck in bed for almost a week, I just brought you chicken noodle soup, and my characters slept for a week as I curled up beside you on the bed, keeping you company through the fevers and the chills.

"Will," I whisper again to the night, and have to keep from laughing. "I love you."


End file.
